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I’m talking shit. If you are uncomfortable with that, stop reading. The reason I’m talking shit is because there’s a lot of shit in my life right now. The amount of shit is less than a year ago, but I still smell shit, wipe shit, scoop shit, and think about shit on a daily basis.

Rayden, my oldest boy is four years old. He shits in the toilet but I still have to wipe shit off his ass.

“Daddy! I poohed!” he yells.

I lift him off the seat and we peer into the porcelain together as father and son, a bonding moment. The snake-shaped shit has smooth and define edges.

“I think it was a clean getaway,” I say.

“Yes Daddy,” he replies as I wipe to confirm.

“You have to deal with your pooh. Get rid of it…holding pooh in gives you owies,” I add.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Jaxen, my youngest is two years old. Thankfully, he wants to be like his Big Bro’. He’s out of diapers but he’s an antsy little guy. If I’m not standing there the moment he’s done, he slides his dirty ass across the seat and is off to give his older brother shit.

“Stop!” I yell, but it’s too late.

Even though it’s fun to say shit-shmmmear, it’s not so fun to clean up.

At least the days of the Up the Back are gone. All mothers and fathers have experienced it. Babies defy the laws of physic. They release more volume from a vessel than the actual size of the vessel. Even more amazing is how a diaper, their ass crack and the groove of their spine can act as a volcanic tube. Depending on the viscosity and eruption velocity, shit can sometimes reach the base of their neck. That’s crazy shit.

Big Head, my yellow lab from New Zealand has shat on both sides of the equator. How many dogs have done that? Not many I’d guess. That’s good shit. When we lived in New Zealand I never picked up his shit because in the countryside where we lived there was cow shit, lamb shit, horse shit, and pig shit. No one cared about another pile of shit.

Now we live in a city. Leaving dog shit on someone’s lawn is bullshit so I carry bags to pick it up. I check the bag for holes and double it up if it looks particularly shitty. Fresh shit transfers its warmth through the bags and onto my hands. Old shit transfers a cold feeling. I prefer the warmth.

All this shit and I haven’t even mentioned my own personal shit. There’s ancestral shit, childhood shit, and shitty memories like losing my brother to leukemia. All the aforementioned shit can lead to shitty behavior patterns—that’s deep shit. I try to deal with all this shit other wise it can make my marriage go to shit and make me a shitty Dad.

Ryan Chin is the creator of, Without Rain There Can Be No Rainbows, a multimedia memoir about his teaching experience in New Zealand. Mr. Chin likes to call it a pet and teacher memoir sandwiched into an overseas adventure. The book is available at Amazonand locally at Powell’s Books. When he’s not dealing with shit he can be found wrestling with his boys, riding waves, or standing in a river waving a stick.